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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871097">I'm always down, babe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercatandfriends/pseuds/supercatandfriends'>supercatandfriends</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, and it's a learning curve, but also i need you all to be aware i generally Do Not write men and i'm doing my best, i'm gonna call this 'an attempt'</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:13:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,353</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercatandfriends/pseuds/supercatandfriends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>what the hell is in that envelope and why is owen so insistent that michelle not read it? who knows. probably something dumb.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michelle Blake/Owen Strand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'm always down, babe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Rosewater’s looking for you downstairs,” Owen said, going for a casual tone. Trying to sell the idea that he hadn’t been standing there for almost two minutes watching her type. As if she hadn’t noticed him the minute he’d come up the stairs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And he didn’t think to check my office? Makes me wonder how gullible you think I am, Captain Strand,” Michelle said, not bothering to look up from her laptop. He could see her hand subtly shift on the desk, though, moving to slide the envelope underneath her computer as if he hadn’t immediately locked onto it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And if he actually were?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d just take it with me,” Michelle shot back, her voice soft, but leaving no room for questions. She finally leaned back in her chair to look up at him standing in the door of her office, her eyes sparkling with amusement that she managed to keep off the rest of her face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, it’s a federal crime to open someone else’s mail.” Owen moved into the room, beginning to realize this was going to be an ordeal. He sat down in one of the chairs across from her desk, crossing his arms over his chest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It doesn’t become mail just because you put it in an envelope,” Michelle said, pulling it out from underneath her laptop and holding it up to inspect it. She turned it around in her hand and up to the light, pretending to look through it. “Besides, I haven’t opened it. Yet.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just tell me where you got it,” Owen said, squinting suspiciously at the item in question. It couldn’t be what he thought it was, and yet there was a not-insignificant part of him that was certain it was. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And then you’ll let me open it?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t say that.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Buttercup dumped your office trash can out, dragged half its contents out into the hall. It looked important.” Michelle sat the envelope back down on the desk and slid it towards him teasingly, careful to keep her hand on it. Owen snatched at it, but she jerked it back before he could even get close. “And your reaction has done nothing to prove me wrong. You’re welcome, by the way, for cleaning that up.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stayed leaning forward towards the desk, but decided to change tactics. “It’s medical information. You don’t need it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“In a baby blue 5x7 envelope?” she asked, suspicion clear on her face. She stood up and rounded the desk, envelope still in hand. Before he could even protest the invasion, she was in his space, pushing him back into the chair and leaning onto the armrests. She caught one of his wrists and gently held it down. “It’s a birthday card.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For T.K.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“T.K.'s birthday is in August.” She smirked at him, knowing she was right, and had been right since she took it from the damn dog. She’d left it propped up on her desk with a paperweight for nearly two hours before she got to witness him </span>
  <em>
    <span>seeing it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’d almost dropped his coffee in the rush to get to his office, where he’d sat for nearly ten minutes just glaring at it and continuously checking his own trash as if it would reappear where it should have been.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m a meticulous planner.” Owen’s face gave her absolutely nothing. She had to admit, he had a damn good poker face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My birthday was yesterday and you didn’t get me anything.” She tried to pout, knowing her joy at having the upper hand was overwhelming it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I got you a muffin!” Owen said, looking righteously offending. He held up his free hand in a mock defensive pose between them. He’d meant to get her more, but the mess with the card had left him questioning what was appropriate.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m gonna open it.” She let him go, leaning back on her own desk and giving him space to breath properly again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I really wish you wouldn’t.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You gonna stare at it all night or you gonna sign the damn thing?” Judd asked, tired of listening his captain click the ballpoint pen in his hand over and over again. “Just write ‘happy birthday’ and give it here.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Seems a bit shallow,” Owen said, “It’s a meaningless gesture if everyone just writes the same thing.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Judd covered his face with his hands, dragging them downward in a show of frustration. “This is the absolute last time I ever want to be in charge of someone’s birthday card. If you wanna write her a love letter just go buy your own so that I can be done with this. T.K. will you tell him it’s not that important?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>T.K. walked into the kitchen, casually dropping down into the chair beside his father. “Captain Blake’s birthday? Completely unimportant.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Owen looked like he was about to argue, before he noticed he was being messed with. “One day someone’s gonna whack that smirk off your face and you’re gonna regret being such a smartass.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Been there, few regrets.” T.K. pulled the card towards him and had taken his own pen out of his pocket. He was writing before anyone could stop him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hang on, you already signed it-” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just speeding up the process,” T.K. said, handing it back to Judd. “I’m pretty good at forging his handwriting, you’re welcome, by the way.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Judd took one look at it before slamming back down on the counter, looking ready to throw down. “Oh you’re gettin’ ready to get smacked, kid. It only took me two goddamn days to get everyone to sign that.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What did he write?” Owen asked, groaning in embarrassment when he saw how strikingly similar it </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>look to his own handwriting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Happy birthday, babe. You know I’m always down -Owen </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>T.K. was laughing his ass off, holding himself up with a hand on the counter as he watched Judd and Owen react. “Relax, Judd, just cross it out. It’s not a big deal.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just cross it- just? Someone better convince me not to kill him in his sleep tonight, I swear-” Owen didn’t hear the rest of it, already walking away from them to get rid of the damn thing before it somehow managed to get to Michelle anyway. He slid it into its envelope, sealed it, and threw it in the trash. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>----------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I told you I read it two hours ago?” Michelle said, crossing her arms. She’d tucked it under her leg after she’d sat back on the edge of her own desk. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“T.K. wrote it. He’s practically an Owen Strand handwriting expert at this point. Years of signing his own field trip permission slips.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that was a bit quick,” Michelle said, that damn smirk still threatening to kill him where he sat. “Why not lead with that?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you haven’t read it, it doesn’t matter who wrote it,” Owen said, shrugging, but still eyeing the envelope, trying to gauge if she was telling the truth. He didn’t particularly want to get into that whole debacle tonight, explaining why T.K. would even </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>to write that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Finally caving, Michelle held it out to him. Owen took it quickly, deflating a bit in relief when he saw it looked unopened. “It’s gonna keep me up at night. Not letting me read it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Owen said, folding it in half and sliding it into his back pocket as he stood up. He looked around the office sheepishly, knowing he’d overreacted to the whole thing. It really </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>that big of a deal. He got to the door before turning back, looking at Michelle still leaning against her own desk, watching him leave. “I’m ordering takeout from that Italian place you liked, let me buy you dinner. Since I screwed up on the birthday present.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll hardly fill the void,” Michelle said, sighing dramatically and shaking her head. She let her hair fall forward, clearly trying to hide her own face and the smirk that was threatening to break out again. “But you know I’m always down for Italian, </span>
  <em>
    <span>babe.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm on tumblr @debbielouocean if you want more nonsense</p></blockquote></div></div>
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